Kirkwall Can Be Such a Drag
by Josie Lange
Summary: An unexpected visitor arrives just as Madeline Hawke and Mother Petrice are about to have their final confrontation. Story takes place in Act II. Fenris, Anders, and Isabela co-star. Written for the "Never-Say-Never Self Insert Challenge" at the Cheeky Monkeys of Dragon Age forum. Rated "T" for mild language.


_**Thanks to the awesomely awesome Suilven for the speedy beta and the great suggestion for the title to this piece. You're the best!**_

_**Speaking of, this was written for Champion the Wonder Snail's "Never Say Never Self-Insert DA Challenge" on the Cheeky Monkeys of Dragon Age forum. I hope it lives up to the challenge!  
**_

* * *

Madeline Hawke stood in the darkened cathedral in Kirkwall, alternately angry and disgusted at the events that had taken place within the last few moments. Mother Petrice had just set several of her followers onto Hawke and her companions Anders, Fenris, and Isabela—followers Petrice had known would likely meet their deaths in a so-called act of martyrdom—and now stood before them, trying to move Grand Cleric Elthina to her side with passionate pleas and outright lies regarding the death of Saemus Dumar and the qunari presence within the city.

"This is no longer a matter of heathens squatting in the docks!" Petrice said, her argument causing the Grand Cleric's already troubled expression to deepen further as they stood on the stairs to the second floor balcony. "People are leaving us to join _them._"

"And we must pray for them like any other," Elthina said, turning away from Petrice to face Hawke and her companions. The lines on her face had deepened as Petrice had spoken, making her appear far older than her years.

Hawke watched as Petrice's face scrunched in disgust and anger. "They _deny_ the Maker," she said, spitting out the words as if they burned her tongue. She opened her mouth to continue, but the Grand Cleric held up a hand to stop her.

"And _you_ diminish Him, even as you claim His side," she said, her voice taking on an edge that caused Petrice to take a slight step backwards as she continued speaking. "Andraste did not volunteer for the flame." With that said, Elthina turned back toward Hawke and her companions behind her, leaving Petrice to stand alone, her expression stupefied as if Elthina's rebuke had been a complete surprise to her.

"Serah Hawke, you stand with the captain of the guard?"

Hawke slowly nodded, her gaze moving between the Grand Cleric and Mother Petrice behind her. She sensed the tension growing despite the presence of the Grand Ceric; judging by the pinched, furious expression on the young mother's face, this situation would not find resolution any time soon.

"The young mother has erred in her judgment," Elthina began, turning once more to face Mother Petrice directly, her eyes resting briefly on the body of Saemus Dumar before meeting the mother's. "A court will decide her fate. The Chantry respects the law, and so must she."

Hawke could not see the expression on the Grand Cleric's face, but she could clearly see the one worn by Petrice. If they could, Petrice's eyes would have shot daggers at the Grand Cleric, her brief expression of confusion at Elthina's rebuke all but a distant memory as the reality of Elthina's words began to take hold. Hawke snorted lightly to herself. _If she's giving Grand Cleric Elthina that look, I can only imagine the one she's saving for me._

After a tense moment of silence, Elthina began to climb the stairs once more, her back turned on the spectacle behind her. Petrice slowly spun around, watching as the Grand Cleric moved away.

"Grand Cleric?"

Elthina simply continued walking, her decision made.

Petrice called out again, her voice taking on an edge of desperation. "_Grand Cleric?"_

Elthina continued her ascent, her receding back telling Petrice—and the rest of those below—that her decision was final. Petrice lowered her head for a moment, apparently pondering the Grand Cleric's words and likely trying to find a way to twist the situation back to her advantage. After a moment, her expression soured once more and she began to turn to face Hawke and her companions—

From out of nowhere, an arrow appeared in her chest.

Hawke gasped, hearing Isabela gasp in unison from behind her. They watched the young mother stumble slightly, her gaze falling to the arrow that protruded from her. As Petrice stared at the shaft, an expression of disbelief crossed her face. Her eyes grew wide and her mouth opened slightly, her breathing a shallow rasp that seemed both strangely quiet yet startlingly loud as everyone focused on her. Slowly, Petrice sank to her knees, her shaking hand slowly rising so that her fingers could lightly brush the arrow's shaft. As she sank even lower onto the floor, Hawke heard the unmistakable sound of a bow creaking a split second before a second arrow appeared in Petrice's forehead. The young mother's head whipped backward, the momentum driving her body to the floor, her suffering ended.

In a nearby doorway, Hawke saw the hulking form of a qunari warrior, his size completely obscuring anything beyond him. He stepped into the room, quietly looking about the cathedral in quick assessment.

"We protect those of the Qun," he said, his deep voice reverberating through the high ceilings of the cathedral. "We do _not_ abandon our own."

As the qunari continued to glare at the _bas _from the doorway, a strange echoing sound began to rise within the cathedral.

"What _is_ that?" Anders asked, turning about to see where the strange sound was coming from.

"Maybe it's the voice of Andraste," Isabela said again, stepping closer to Hawke. She tilted her head to one side, apparently listening closely as the sound began to grow. "I think it's a voice… and it's coming from Hawke."

"What? That's not coming from me! I didn't say anything!"

The sound was becoming louder and higher pitched. "It sounds like a voice," Anders said, his eyes narrowing as he studied Hawke. "I'm not sure what it's saying."

"It's a demon!" Fenris cried out, pulling his great sword from its scabbard and holding it in front of him. He did not brandish it directly at Hawke, but it was clear to everyone that he was ready to confront any sort of demon—or even Hawke herself—if need be.

The sound—definitely a voice—continued to grow and become more and more distinct. Anders, more curious than anything else, stepped closer to Hawke while addressing Fenris. "Oh, so every ethereal voice is a demon?"

"Maybe it's Andraste," Isabela said. She raised her hands and shook them in front of her in mock fear. "Boo! Ooohhh… scary!"

Hawke's confused and exasperated glare fell first on Anders, then on the sword Fenris held before him. "What are you talking about? And for the love of Andraste, put that damned sword down, Fenris—" Hawke said, her rebuttal cut off as an ethereal glow began to surround her. She tried to brush it off her skin. "What the—"

With a popping sound and a blinding flash, a woman stepped out from behind Hawke.

"… No! That was _my_ kill, goddammit, not yours, you overgrown smurf!"

Hawke turned to face the newcomer, her eyes drifting over her companions in the process. Fenris' eyes were narrowed, looking toward the strange new woman with apprehension and suspicion. Anders and Isabela both had various looks of amusement on their faces; Anders' expression was likely due to Fenris' obvious suspicion of both Hawke and the new woman, while Isabela stood with her hand on her hip and brow raised as she assessed the situation.

The newcomer was small in stature, not much taller than most elves. Hawke saw that the woman had the same dark blonde hair and brown eyes as she did, though her skin was much fairer than her own. Her clothing appeared similar to some found in Kirkwall, but was still different enough to be noticed if she decided to take a walk through the city. The trousers she wore were dark blue and appeared to be made of a heavy fabric. Her shirt was also dark blue, with sleeves that came halfway down her forearms and a scoop neck. Two earrings were in each ear; simple in design, not ostentatious like those Isabela often wore.

"Ugh, I _hate_ when crap like this happens," the woman said, gesturing with her hand toward where Mother Petrice lay on the floor. "I've been waiting _forever_ to off this bitch—" She pointed toward the qunari standing in the nearby doorway. "—and _you_ took it away from me! This is so infuriating."

A curious rustling sound filled the space between the bewildered companions as Anders reached into his robe and pulled out what appeared to be a bound packet of papers. Propping his staff against the nearby wall, he began to thumb through the pages. It only took a moment for him to find a particular page and tap it with his finger.

"This isn't what the script says… um… what did you say your name was?"

"It's Josie. And I might be a fan fiction writer that loves cliffhangers, but not even _I_ would have denied the audience the satisfaction of killing Petrice. I wonder if I can reload my last save and see if I can change the scene…"

As the stranger answered, Isabela moved to Anders' side and picked up the hem of his robe as if to look under it. "I wonder what else you have hidden in here."

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Anders said, playfully swatting Isabela's seeking hands away. "At any rate, the script specifically says 'qunari kills Mother Petrice in front of the Grand Cleric, Hawke and his/her companions.'"

Elthina descended the staircase she had been climbing and came to stand near Hawke, reaching into her pocket and withdrawing a small tin and papers. As the newcomer watched, Elthina tapped a small amount of dried tobacco into the paper, rolling it tightly and using her tongue to lick the paper and seal the tiny tube closed. She held the cigarette between her fingers, looking to Anders with brows raised.

"Little help here?" she said, her voice a deep rasp. Anders nodded, bringing a fingertip up to the end of the tube and lighting it with a tiny flicker of flame. She took a long draw, pulling the flame noticeably down the length of the tiny tube. The newcomer turned to look at the Grand Cleric, surprised at how gravelly her voice sounded.

"Holy cow… how may cartons of cigarettes do you _eat_ every day? Your voice sounds like you swallowed a ton of gravel. You need some serious throat lozenges."

As the newcomer finished speaking, Petrice opened her eyes from where she lay on the floor.

"So, I'm still going to die in the scene, right?"

Startled, the newcomer looked at the supposedly dead Petrice as she sat up and raised her hands toward her head. At first, it looked like Petrice was going to comb her fingers through her hair, but when Petrice actually _removed_ her hair, the newcomer's brows lifted in amusement. Petrice had a bald head and there was a clear line of demarcation between the skin on her face and the actual skin beneath the wig. She was wearing makeup—lots of it. The newcomer narrowed her eyes and studied Petrice. As her eyes drifted over Petrice's made up skin—her makeup, while heavy, was artfully applied—she noticed a curious shadow on the lower part of Petrice's face. It looked like…

"… A five o'clock shadow?" The newcomer said, a smirk pulling on her lips. "You're a _drag queen?_"

"I prefer the term _female impersonator_," Petrice said, lightly scratching a spot on her—_his_—scalp before replacing the wig. He caught his reflection in Fenris' sword and used it as a makeshift mirror as he adjusted the wig's placement. "I work at Molly and Tommy's nightclub at the edge of Hightown. I'm there all week… come see the show!"

The newcomer smirked. "That explains a lot… I always thought you wore too much makeup for a simple chantry mother."

"Well, one must look fierce and sickening for such a dramatic death scene," Petrice said.

"You hardly look fierce and ferocious," Fenris said as he rolled his eyes. "_I_ look fierce."

"It's a figure of speech, dolt," Petrice said. He turned his head upward to meet Fenris' eyes. "'Sickening' means that I look so good, it makes you sick. 'Fierce' means that I look bold and eye-catching." A look of concern crossed Petrice's face as his gaze fell upon the script in Anders' hand. "I'm still dying, aren't I?"

"Yes," the newcomer said, pointing toward Hawke. "But _I_… I mean, Hawke… should be the one to do it."

A visibly relieved look crossed Petrice's face. "Excellent! I practiced this scene for a _very _ long time and I do _not_ want my skills going to waste. Acting!"

"Why Hawke?" Isabela asked, her brows drawn down in confusion.

"Because _I'm_ the one that controls Hawke's decisions and movements," the newcomer said. "Hawke is my alter ego in this game."

"This isn't a game," Hawke said, her voice insistent. "And the only one that controls my destiny is _me._"

The newcomer's eyes narrowed and she crossed her arms over her chest. "Oh, really? Then you wouldn't mind turning around and looking through the pockets of one of Petrice's dead cronies over there. I'm sure one of them has some gil."

"Gil?" Elthina asked, taking another long draw off the cigarette. "What's a gil?"

"Oh, duh. Sorry about that," the newcomer said, shrugging her shoulders. "Wrong game; that's Final Fantasy. I meant _sovereigns._"

Hawke turned to move toward the bodies behind them. Her leg muscles twitched, but refused to budge. She reached down and placed her hands on either side of her right thigh as if to physically move her leg with her hands. "Andraste's arse! What have you done to me? I can't move!"

"I _told_ you; you're my alter ego. You don't move or make any decisions of note unless I make them for you."

"Can we get back to business here?" Anders asked, still absentmindedly brushing the front of his robe. "I have work to do tonight… you know, saving the poor, destitute Fereldans in Kirkwall." Suddenly, Anders shook his head, closing his eyes as he did so. When he opened them again, he tucked his chin to his chest and began speaking in a deep droning voice.

"YOU HAVE THE LIBERATION OF THE MAGES TO ATTEND TO, ANDERS. WE WILL BE WORKING ON THAT TONIGHT, NOTHING ELSE."

Turning toward Anders, the newcomer rolled her eyes before pointing a finger at him. "Anders—and _Justice—_you need to _really_ stop being such a whiny bitch and be like you were in 'Awakening'. You were such a loveable scoundrel there, Anders. Justice was… well… still a stick in the mud."

"'Awakening?'" Isabela asked, her brows dipping lower as she spoke. "The only awakening I'm aware of is 'awakening' in the morning."

The newcomer turned away from Anders—and the sheepish look on his face—and centered her attention on Isabela. She waved her hand toward the captain, her open palm starting near Isabela's knees and moving up toward head level. "And _you_ need to put some damn pants on. You're going to have a Janet Jackson moment fighting one day and then all the censors in Kirkwall will go crazy and try to pass laws that say everyone has to wear long sleeves and pants."

A confused look passed between Anders and Fenris. "Who's Janet Jackson?" Fenris asked.

At the sound of his voice, the newcomer whirled about to face him. "And _you_… would it kill you to smile once in a while? You have such a buttery voice… it makes the ladies swoon; I loved your work as Balthier in Final Fantasy XII. Anyway, one genuine smile out of you would make them all faint from pure pleasure. Not that I would—no offense—since I'm a Loghain fan girl myself—"

"Ewww," Anders said, his nose scrunching up as if he smelled something offensive. "You… you actually _like_ Loghain? But… he's so… old… and… _crotchety… _and _old_. And that _nose_—"

"Now, hang on a second there, Mr. Split Personality," the newcomer said, placing her hands on her hips. "He's _not_ that old compared to me and, hey, don't disparage his nose! It's kinda cute and is totally noticeable on the action figure of him that is on my desk…" She scoffed and slashed her hand through the air. "…And, we're _not_ here to talk about my borderline unhealthy obsession with Loghain, we're here talking about how _I want to kill that bitch, Petrice, myself!_ Ugh… Gaider is _so_ getting a letter for this!"

"Don't you mean _I_ get to kill Petrice?" Hawke asked, still trying to brush the glow off of her skin as she sneered. "Since _you _control _me_."

The newcomer scoffed again. "Yes, yes, _you_ get to kill Petrice, but I'm the one that will be pulling the strings. After all, you'll go back to being my alter ego and you don't do anything I wouldn't do… Well, I wouldn't go around sticking my hands in wyvern shit, so that _was_ all you."

Hawke looked even more confused than she had before; she had even stopped trying to rub the glow off of her skin to look the newcomer directly in the eye. "Wyvern shit? What are you talking about?"

The newcomer stepped toward the glow, apparently ready to leave. "Oh, you'll find out." She leaned forward, whispering into Hawke's ear as the glow moved to surround her, causing her body to shimmer and grow faint. "Let me give you some advice. Kill Tallis; trust me, you'll be better off."

* * *

_When I first saw Petrice in DAII, I thought she wore an awful lot of makeup for a chantry sister... goodness, her character wears more makeup than a lot of the women in Kirkwall (and definitely more than my Hawke did). As for Anders, I loved him to pieces in Awakening; not as much as my fan girl obsession with Loghain, but he and Nathaniel are both great characters._

_"Molly" and "Tommy" were slang terms for homosexual men and women in 18th century England.  
_


End file.
